


Salt and Oil

by Belladonna_Baby



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: After Dunkirk, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Drinking to Cope, Healing, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Baby/pseuds/Belladonna_Baby
Summary: Alex’s eyes are ablaze, burning in their emerald heat.





	Salt and Oil

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will be three parts. Sorry if there's any mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Comments are appreciated :)

 

He can’t look up, can’t meet the verdant gaze of the other man. It happens quite often, Alex staring at Tommy intently as the later looks at his dry palms. Tommy’s been looking at them so often, he imagines there’s salt water in the ridges and xs of his life line. He wonders if he grabbed Alex’s hand, held it palm up to the window of their shared bedroom where the morning light lazily filters through, if he could see salt and oil in the crevices of Alex’s calloused skin too. When Alex stares, he looks analytical. As if Tommy is something strange he’s trying to understand. Tommy doesn’t really get annoyed, in fact, he hopes when or if Alex finds a conclusion, he’ll share his findings. Tommy’s just as lost as he is. Feels just as strange as he must seem. 

 

“We should go out.” Alex’s flat voice draws Tommy away from his hands. He finally looks up to meet the other’s eyes- finds a challenge there.  _ I dare you to say yes _ ,  _ I dare you to come with me _ . Tommy watches the left corner of Alex’s lip quirk up, Alex searches Tommy’s cerulean eyes for an answer. The younger doesn’t show anything; he watches Alex pull his bottom lip towards his front teeth as he tears at the dry skin there, waiting. Tommy says nothing.

 

The Scot rolls his eyes, sighs heavy through his nose. Tommy watches him heave sore limbs up from the bed across from him, watches him tug on his muddy boots, watches him shrug on his dusty winter coat and scarf. It’s when Alex reaches the doorframe of their room that Tommy speaks, voice made ruff by winter. 

 

“Fine.”

 

Alex makes an gruff sound in aggination. Though, when he turns his head slightly to the left, Tommy can see a content smile forming before he turns and exits the room.

”Hurry the fuck up then would’ya.” Alex mumbles. 

 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

The thick wool scarf around Tommy’s neck is making him too hot. Well, it’s actually the pint of whiskey he just drank, but the scarf sure isn’t helping. Alex rambles on about some childhood story Tommy lost the plot to two pints back. He tugs the scarf at his neck, gives up after a futile attempt, helpless. Alex’s cool fingers brush the side of Tommy’s throat as he gently unravels the scarf. He’s talking all the while, slurred speech and all. Tommy coughs a thanks before bringing the cool glass to his lips. The phantom touch of the older man’s fingers linger, chills skid up Tommy’s spine, he suppresses a cough.

 

“Excuse me-” a high pitched voice cuts through the haze of Tommy’s inebriated thoughts and Alex’s drunken babble. Tommy shifts on his stool to look over his right shoulder. A fair young woman with gleaming green eyes is staring at him. Her hair falls in chestnut waves. Her smile gives Tommy a run for his money. She sure is a pretty thing, he thinks.  

 

“I’ve seen you here a few times. I wanted to introduce myself, my name is Alice.” She smiles shyly now, holds out a dainty hand. 

 

Tommy’s eyes drop down to her extended palm in surprise. Surely she’s mistaken, it’s kind of dark in here. She must be thinking he’s Alex, he tries to reason.  _ Alex _ , who hasn’t said a word. But his presence is so palpable, familiar to Tommy it might as well be the spaces between his pulse. He’s staring at her hand a bit too long, he knows. But the words are just catching up to him. He slowly offers up his hand.

 

“I’m Tommy.” 

 

“Tommy. Nice to meet you Tommy.” Her hand falls, she smiles again over her shoulder as she turns and goes. He stares at her white satin covered back. An obnoxious slurp to his left draws him back. Tommy adjusts himself on the stool. His clammy hand reaches for the glass until he realizes he’s holding something. In his palm is a crumpled piece of paper with seven digits scrawled in red. His face feels hot. The blush deepens as Alex’s heavy gaze settles on Tommy’s face. Alex doesn’t say a thing, like always. Tommy looks at his hands, like always. Except this time they aren’t bare, aren’t empty. He shoves the paper into his coat pocket, wraps his hands around the near empty glass again. Doesn’t look up from his drink. 

 

Alex makes a _ pft _ sound. Tommy looks up to see another one of Alex’s eyerolls. Except he doesn’t look merely annoyed. He looks angry. Tommy watches the tick in Alex’s jaw. The flush on his cheek bones. The tightness of his mouth. The blades of his knuckles are sharp, white pearls. Tommy stares at them, fascinated, before Alex looks over. A gasp passes between his damp lips. Alex’s eyes are ablaze. Burning in their emerald heat. Tommy wants to reach out and smooth the wrinkles between his brows, wants to ask what the problem is. But his mouth and limbs are separate entities from his mind. He is a deer caught in green headlights. Alex looks away. He tosses his head back, downs the remains of his pint. Neither of them say a word, not even as they exit the pub with numb knees. 

  
  


*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

“Did you want the girl?” Tommy mumbles as they make their way back home from the pub. He’s still stuck. Stuck on what the hell Alex is bent out of shape about. Stuck on the memory of his eyes. It amplifies his weariness to make eye contact with the other man in the first place. There is a passion, an intensity locked inside Alex. Tommy is afraid to be burned up in it. Reminds him of the trawler back in Dunkirk when they were hiding from the Germans, Alex’s rabid look as he promised Tommy'd be next after the frenchman. Reminds him of the burning men floundering at sea. 

 

Alex lets loose an exasperated laugh. He shakes his head and stares at his boots as they walk the along cobblestone street. He doesn’t respond. 

 

“You can have her number, mate…I don’-” He stops short when Alex gives him an incredulous look. Almost accusing. 

 

“What? Why are you-” 

 

“Christ, Tom… If you don’t- if you can’t fucking see it… I won’t help you…” He tapers off at the end. Shivering as the whiskey slips away. Warmth gone. 

 

Tommy’s brows pull together confused. He’s about to ask what Alex’s means but he’s interrupted by a burst of coughs. He halts in the street and draws the scarf up to is mouth as the fit continues. His shoulders quake with the force of it. He feels phlegm come up his throat. Tommy swallows it down and breathes in deeply. 

 

“Jesus, Tom. We should get you some medicine before that gets any worse.” 

 

Tommy glances over to where Alex stands, shoulders curled, arms crossed from the brisk winter wind. His cheeks are still flushed from the liquor, pinkening from frostbite. The heat is gone, replaced with a tiredness that settles under his eyes, drags down the corners of his mouth. His eyes are void of their previous glint, holding nothing but concern now. 

 

“Not enough money..” Tommy wheezes. He closes his eyes as an ache settles behind them. Christ, his head hurts, mind swimming. He hears Alex shuffle closer. Tommy opens them when he feels the weight around his neck become heavier. Alex is close, carefully winding his own scarf on top of Tommy’s. He feels warmth blossom in his gut, quickly vanishing when the Scot takes a step back. 

 

Alex bites the inside of his lip in thought. He takes in Tommy’s pink nose and wan complexion. He’s right, they have no money. Not for a proper doctor. But Tommy has to work tomorrow to make ends meet; they can’t afford a sick day on either of their parts. Alex knows Tommy can suffer through it, hell, they survived war. But they aren’t at war anymore. At least… not physically. He wants to help Tommy, despite how willing the other is to suffer in silence. Alex remembers a shop not far from where they stand. He passed by it a few times in the twilight hour after work. There’s a middle aged woman who owns it. She reminds him of the druids his grandmother used to sing about. Her dark auburn hair and soil brown eyes. Alex never believed much in God, and after what he’s seen, doesn’t think he ever will. But he would bet his life that woman is a healer, a white witch of sorts. He caught her eye once and he can still remember the jolt of something peculiar. It made his fingers curl and his pace quicken. 

It’s only seven or so and something tells Alex she’ll be open.  

 

“Come on. I think I know a place.”

 

Tommy squints his eyes at the taller man but matches his brisk pace. 

  
  
  


*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*


End file.
